Some things I worry about

I may live to regret this post. But it occurs to me that, despite the overall sense of well-being it has been my good fortune to enjoy on each of my trips to Paris to date, I am plagued with a remarkable knack of finding minor details to worry about. Actually I suspect everyone is the same way, as a species we seem to be remarkably adept at locating imaginary flies in the ointment.

Last spring, for instance, my constant fear was that I would get trapped in the remarkably claustrophobic shower in the apartment, and that they would only find my shrivelled-up, prune-like, emaciated corpse when the smell became so overpowering that the neighbors finally broke down the door. This time around, the shower is not a problem. The spiral staircase, in contrast, is so treacherous to negotiate, especially when going downstairs, that I have ongoing nightmares of making a false step and ... well, you know the rest ... discovery of emaciated corpse, with broken leg piercing my flesh after days of unaccounted absence from school.

I am, of course, aware that neither of these scenarios is realistic in any sense. The apartment here is at street level, just next to the entrance to the building, so it's a safe bet that someone would come to my aid in response to my piteous cries for help. But the knowledge that these fantasies are irrational doesn't just make them go away, you know.

Then, on a more psychological level, there was my conviction last fall that I would become addicted to (delicious) limoncello, falling prey to its seductive charms and eventually ending my stay as an SDF ("sans domicile fixte", the French for a homeless person, the word "clochard" no longer being current, apparently). This time around I have thus far managed to resist the allure of limoncello, but am in clear danger of becoming addicted to the delicious baguettes sold at the little bakery around the corner. To the point that I may swell up like a pig ready for slaughter and become stuck while trying to navigate the treacherous spiral staircase. Though at least this nightmare scenario is self-limiting, as presumably a few days sans baguettes would render me slim enough so that I could become unstuck again. Unless, of course, I managed to break a limb while thrashing to become unstuck ...

You see what I mean? I am ashamed even to be sharing this with you, so ridiculously first-world are these "problems".

Maybe I will go downstairs and snack on a tasty morsel of baguette...